Spring camps are open, and 50 years ago the Minnesota Twins were in Florida preparing for their first pennant-winning season since the franchise shift from Washington. The focus of most Minnesotans was the harsh winter and looming floods, so baseball wasn’t front and center to fans, but one story from Florida that spring lives on.
New third-base coach Billy Martin had been working all spring with 25-year-old shortstop Zoilo Versalles, whose inconsistency had baffled the Twins since 1961. That year, Martin and Versalles had been double-play partners, and now the retired second baseman played mentor. Versalles had responded well to Martin’s coaching in Florida, but the two hit a bump in the road before the team broke camp.
Trouble found Versalles during the final week of camp, as skipper Sam Mele believed that his shortstop failed to give maximum effort on a routine grounder that got past him and led to two runs in a loss to the New York Mets. Mele replaced Versalles one pitch later with rookie infielder Bill Bethea. Such a managerial act is rarely seen today, especially during a preseason game. Pulled off the field, Versalles headed to the outfield to do his running, but Martin confronted him when he returned to the dugout.
When Mele stepped in and told Versalles to sit on the bench in the chance he might learn something, Versalles angrily replied that he would sit on the bench for Martin, but not for his manager. His display of loyalty to Martin quickly became costly, as St. Paul Pioneer Press writer Arno Goethel recounted from his spring-training beat:
“That’ll cost you $100,” said Mele.
“Why not make it $200?” Versalles countered.
“Okay,” said Mele. “It’s $200.”
Versalles persisted. “Why not make it $300?”
“That’s what it is,” Mele agreed.
And so it was. The skipper freed his insubordinate player of $300. A face-to-face chat with ever-stingy owner Calvin Griffith, in an effort to recoup some of that lost cash, proved futile. Versalles, who ignited game-winning rallies all season long for the 1965 club, went on to win American League MVP honors.
The incident epitomized how mass media shaped the image of Latino players in that era. Cubans, especially those without a working knowledge of English, received little coverage and were quoted in Twin Cities newspapers less often than their teammates. The attention they did receive often mimicked the media coverage afforded most Third World countries, which we don’t hear about unless they endure a natural disaster or are at the center of a controversy.
Versalles was an interesting and complicated man, a truth lost on most Twins fans. He grew up in a one-room shack on Havana’s outskirts. He didn’t complete grade school, yet taught himself to read his native language.
Despite his poor upbringing, during which food was often in short supply, Versalles was an excellent cook. Though he grew up eating simply, he became masterful and creative in the kitchen, cooking with a flair that drew raves from family and friends. His approach to food seemed to match his chaotic, sometimes erratic approach to life; he cooked without recipes and frequently made something of nothing. “He would put things together that you would never imagine would go together,” says his daughter, Ampy Versalles-Curtis, “and it would taste great.”
Another Versalles passion was opera, an art form that might seem incongruous for a man who grew up dirt-poor in Cuba. He skillfully sang the music he adored, and it wasn’t unusual for teammates to hear his powerful voice emanating from the clubhouse shower after a game. The same was true at home. “He’d just break into song,” Versalles-Curtis recalls fondly, “especially Giacomo Puccini's ‘Nessun Dorma.’ Luciano Pavarotti singing it was his favorite.”
“My dad sang all the time,” she says. “Music was a huge part of our household. And we all sang. My dad would have friends over and eventually it would all end with music. Everybody would grab an instrument. I can play the spoons to this day. You'd have to have something. Or you'd hit the side of a glass or something, and everybody would get into whatever it was. My uncle Ramón played the guitar. So did my grandfather Zoilo and his brother Ramón. They'd all play guitar and we’d sing old songs, more of the Buena Vista Social Club kind of music.”
Versalles struggled with English and rarely talked to reporters as a player. Lonely and distraught after being isolated from his parents and young wife in Cuba after the Bay of Pigs invasion led to Cuba’s closing, he left the team during the 1961 season because he wanted to return home. His departure from the team and his blow-up with Mele were what the talented shortstop was known for when the Twins began their 1965 push to the American League pennant. That’s an unfortunate reality of the times, and Versalles wasn’t the only Twins player with an interesting life that largely went unnoticed.
Tony Oliva, Camilo Pascual, Sandy Valdespino, Julio Bécquer and the other Cubans in the Twins system have interesting stories of coming to the United States, learning to adjust to a new culture, becoming major leaguers, and having to face the isolation of losing contact with family back on the island.
Their stories are told in “Tony Oliva: The Life and Times of a Minnesota Twins Legend.” They were among the most interesting interview subjects in the course of a fascinating and educational experience for this writer, and I believe you’ll enjoy their stories as much as I do. Their stories deserve to be heard.
New third-base coach Billy Martin had been working all spring with 25-year-old shortstop Zoilo Versalles, whose inconsistency had baffled the Twins since 1961. That year, Martin and Versalles had been double-play partners, and now the retired second baseman played mentor. Versalles had responded well to Martin’s coaching in Florida, but the two hit a bump in the road before the team broke camp.
Trouble found Versalles during the final week of camp, as skipper Sam Mele believed that his shortstop failed to give maximum effort on a routine grounder that got past him and led to two runs in a loss to the New York Mets. Mele replaced Versalles one pitch later with rookie infielder Bill Bethea. Such a managerial act is rarely seen today, especially during a preseason game. Pulled off the field, Versalles headed to the outfield to do his running, but Martin confronted him when he returned to the dugout.
When Mele stepped in and told Versalles to sit on the bench in the chance he might learn something, Versalles angrily replied that he would sit on the bench for Martin, but not for his manager. His display of loyalty to Martin quickly became costly, as St. Paul Pioneer Press writer Arno Goethel recounted from his spring-training beat:
“That’ll cost you $100,” said Mele.
“Why not make it $200?” Versalles countered.
“Okay,” said Mele. “It’s $200.”
Versalles persisted. “Why not make it $300?”
“That’s what it is,” Mele agreed.
And so it was. The skipper freed his insubordinate player of $300. A face-to-face chat with ever-stingy owner Calvin Griffith, in an effort to recoup some of that lost cash, proved futile. Versalles, who ignited game-winning rallies all season long for the 1965 club, went on to win American League MVP honors.
The incident epitomized how mass media shaped the image of Latino players in that era. Cubans, especially those without a working knowledge of English, received little coverage and were quoted in Twin Cities newspapers less often than their teammates. The attention they did receive often mimicked the media coverage afforded most Third World countries, which we don’t hear about unless they endure a natural disaster or are at the center of a controversy.
Versalles was an interesting and complicated man, a truth lost on most Twins fans. He grew up in a one-room shack on Havana’s outskirts. He didn’t complete grade school, yet taught himself to read his native language.
Despite his poor upbringing, during which food was often in short supply, Versalles was an excellent cook. Though he grew up eating simply, he became masterful and creative in the kitchen, cooking with a flair that drew raves from family and friends. His approach to food seemed to match his chaotic, sometimes erratic approach to life; he cooked without recipes and frequently made something of nothing. “He would put things together that you would never imagine would go together,” says his daughter, Ampy Versalles-Curtis, “and it would taste great.”
Another Versalles passion was opera, an art form that might seem incongruous for a man who grew up dirt-poor in Cuba. He skillfully sang the music he adored, and it wasn’t unusual for teammates to hear his powerful voice emanating from the clubhouse shower after a game. The same was true at home. “He’d just break into song,” Versalles-Curtis recalls fondly, “especially Giacomo Puccini's ‘Nessun Dorma.’ Luciano Pavarotti singing it was his favorite.”
“My dad sang all the time,” she says. “Music was a huge part of our household. And we all sang. My dad would have friends over and eventually it would all end with music. Everybody would grab an instrument. I can play the spoons to this day. You'd have to have something. Or you'd hit the side of a glass or something, and everybody would get into whatever it was. My uncle Ramón played the guitar. So did my grandfather Zoilo and his brother Ramón. They'd all play guitar and we’d sing old songs, more of the Buena Vista Social Club kind of music.”
Versalles struggled with English and rarely talked to reporters as a player. Lonely and distraught after being isolated from his parents and young wife in Cuba after the Bay of Pigs invasion led to Cuba’s closing, he left the team during the 1961 season because he wanted to return home. His departure from the team and his blow-up with Mele were what the talented shortstop was known for when the Twins began their 1965 push to the American League pennant. That’s an unfortunate reality of the times, and Versalles wasn’t the only Twins player with an interesting life that largely went unnoticed.
Tony Oliva, Camilo Pascual, Sandy Valdespino, Julio Bécquer and the other Cubans in the Twins system have interesting stories of coming to the United States, learning to adjust to a new culture, becoming major leaguers, and having to face the isolation of losing contact with family back on the island.
Their stories are told in “Tony Oliva: The Life and Times of a Minnesota Twins Legend.” They were among the most interesting interview subjects in the course of a fascinating and educational experience for this writer, and I believe you’ll enjoy their stories as much as I do. Their stories deserve to be heard.